Poems (Blagden)/The seven chords of the lyre
THE SEVEN CHORDS OF THE LYRE.
NO. I.—ASPIRATION.
Oh, would I were yon glorious arch on high—
Itself so fair, its promise fairer still!
God's gracious message smiling in the sky,
With love, and hope, and faith all hearts to fill;
And as, where it meets earth, rich jewels gleam,
Clear sapphires, kingly rubies, emeralds rare,
Would I in death Fame's sparkling guerdon wear,
Fulfilled youth's aspiration and its dream.
As fair my hope as yonder prismed hues—
As brightly, may its aim accomplished shine!
Courage and truth and constancy divine,
The gems in which those lucid rays shall fuse,
To noble promise, blest fruition given—
My life a bow which spans both earth and heaven.
Itself so fair, its promise fairer still!
God's gracious message smiling in the sky,
With love, and hope, and faith all hearts to fill;
And as, where it meets earth, rich jewels gleam,
Clear sapphires, kingly rubies, emeralds rare,
Would I in death Fame's sparkling guerdon wear,
Fulfilled youth's aspiration and its dream.
As fair my hope as yonder prismed hues—
As brightly, may its aim accomplished shine!
Courage and truth and constancy divine,
The gems in which those lucid rays shall fuse,
To noble promise, blest fruition given—
My life a bow which spans both earth and heaven.
NO. II.—LOVE.
The night is silent, and the yearning earth
In breathless stillness keeps expectant state
(A mortal pregnant with immortal birth),
Till lo! full statured, calm, inviolate,
Born in the purple, and crowned Queen, when born,
The regnant moon ascends her golden throne!
As paused the earth, so paused my heart forlorn,
And yet instinct with mystic prescience, grown
From the long travail of my struggling soul,
Till, hope consummate, full fruition blest,
Great love arose, transfiguring the whole
Of my glad being, which thus finds its rest!
Its arid places bloom, its ruins shine,
As shines the earth, beneath yon orb divine.
In breathless stillness keeps expectant state
(A mortal pregnant with immortal birth),
Till lo! full statured, calm, inviolate,
Born in the purple, and crowned Queen, when born,
The regnant moon ascends her golden throne!
As paused the earth, so paused my heart forlorn,
And yet instinct with mystic prescience, grown
From the long travail of my struggling soul,
Till, hope consummate, full fruition blest,
Great love arose, transfiguring the whole
Of my glad being, which thus finds its rest!
Its arid places bloom, its ruins shine,
As shines the earth, beneath yon orb divine.
no. III.—joy.
Oh take me, God, for my life's cup is full!
I would to thee the rich libation pour.
Sceptred and crowned, do I not tread the shore
Of the blest isles?—and ere the beautiful
Enchanting vision fade, oh let me die
Wearing the palm of life's felicity!
Let them fear death, who, wearied with long strife,
Yet struggle onwards creditors to life,
For some poor tardy boon which flies their grasp;
But I, with joy's flush roses on my cheek—
But I, who hold Love's lilies in my clasp,
Know full content; one rose-leaf more would break
The fair proportions of my happiness:
Let death take all, ere life can make it less.
I would to thee the rich libation pour.
Sceptred and crowned, do I not tread the shore
Of the blest isles?—and ere the beautiful
Enchanting vision fade, oh let me die
Wearing the palm of life's felicity!
Let them fear death, who, wearied with long strife,
Yet struggle onwards creditors to life,
For some poor tardy boon which flies their grasp;
But I, with joy's flush roses on my cheek—
But I, who hold Love's lilies in my clasp,
Know full content; one rose-leaf more would break
The fair proportions of my happiness:
Let death take all, ere life can make it less.
NO. IV.—DOUBT.
O'er the "white wonder" of that orbed breast,
Through which the blue luxurious veins seem proud
To bear the roseate life, dar'st thou to rest,
Malignant asp, more envious than the cloud
That sears the glories of the summer sky,
And brings foul tempests where was golden calm?
More envious and more stern, clouds break and die,
And tempests pass, but thou, amid the balm,
And joy and perfume of that soft domain,
Defeaturing all its beauty doth remain,
And taintest with thy sharp envenomed power
That life's sweet pride, till life itself be o'er!
So stings this doubt which pierces through my heart,
And wars with love, till love itself depart.
Through which the blue luxurious veins seem proud
To bear the roseate life, dar'st thou to rest,
Malignant asp, more envious than the cloud
That sears the glories of the summer sky,
And brings foul tempests where was golden calm?
More envious and more stern, clouds break and die,
And tempests pass, but thou, amid the balm,
And joy and perfume of that soft domain,
Defeaturing all its beauty doth remain,
And taintest with thy sharp envenomed power
That life's sweet pride, till life itself be o'er!
So stings this doubt which pierces through my heart,
And wars with love, till love itself depart.
NO. V.—SORROW.
If trampled grass gives perfume; if the bowl
Must be well broken ere the wine can flow;
From the abysses of this storm-tossed soul,
From this my destiny's last mortal blow,
From sobs, and sighs, and agonies of tears,
From tortured life, and happiness forborne,
The utter ruin of my youth's lost years,
And from the bitter present's strife forlorn,
The future's terror and the past's despair;
And from this crushed and grief-wrung heart I dare
To call on thee, O God! Let others bring
Their love, obedience, faith, as offering:
I lay my sorrows prostrate at thy feet.
Avenging God! to Thee bruised flowers are sweet.
Must be well broken ere the wine can flow;
From the abysses of this storm-tossed soul,
From this my destiny's last mortal blow,
From sobs, and sighs, and agonies of tears,
From tortured life, and happiness forborne,
The utter ruin of my youth's lost years,
And from the bitter present's strife forlorn,
The future's terror and the past's despair;
And from this crushed and grief-wrung heart I dare
To call on thee, O God! Let others bring
Their love, obedience, faith, as offering:
I lay my sorrows prostrate at thy feet.
Avenging God! to Thee bruised flowers are sweet.
NO. VI.—ENDURANCE.
Wild heart, be still! From yon lone mount, a star
Looks singly forth on the dark world. Art thou
Less brave? To thee thy fears and sorrow are
As night to yon bright orb; yet is its brow
Radiant and calm, as when amid the joy
Of the young earth its light flashed forth from God!
Can summer suns, or gentle moons alloy
The immemorial woe to which art vowed,
O cypress-tree? Yet dost thou sternly bear
Thy mournful doom, and with a brave despair
Droop'st not, albeit no smiles of vernal spring
To thy funereal crown new light can bring,
Lo! these bear up 'gainst Fate a steadfast war;
Am I less noble than the tree or star?
Looks singly forth on the dark world. Art thou
Less brave? To thee thy fears and sorrow are
As night to yon bright orb; yet is its brow
Radiant and calm, as when amid the joy
Of the young earth its light flashed forth from God!
Can summer suns, or gentle moons alloy
The immemorial woe to which art vowed,
O cypress-tree? Yet dost thou sternly bear
Thy mournful doom, and with a brave despair
Droop'st not, albeit no smiles of vernal spring
To thy funereal crown new light can bring,
Lo! these bear up 'gainst Fate a steadfast war;
Am I less noble than the tree or star?
NO. VII.—FAITH.
Yet more, life's music holdeth more than these,
Endurance and submission, more, far more;
There is a golden chord whose harmonies
Have deeper echoes; strike that chord and soar
Through faith o'er sorrow; we may struggle yet,
And with grief's armèd angel we may strive,
But faith shall win the blessing He can give;
Our lips will smile, although our eyes are wet,
Till we life's earnest mystery have solved;
And then, weak heart, that in thy joy sought death,
Now that the varied circle has revolved,
Know that the soul which breathes immortal breath,
Stronger than joy, stronger than grief, must be,
And trample both, to reach, O God to Thee!
Endurance and submission, more, far more;
There is a golden chord whose harmonies
Have deeper echoes; strike that chord and soar
Through faith o'er sorrow; we may struggle yet,
And with grief's armèd angel we may strive,
But faith shall win the blessing He can give;
Our lips will smile, although our eyes are wet,
Till we life's earnest mystery have solved;
And then, weak heart, that in thy joy sought death,
Now that the varied circle has revolved,
Know that the soul which breathes immortal breath,
Stronger than joy, stronger than grief, must be,
And trample both, to reach, O God to Thee!